


For Those in Peril on the Sea

by bkreed



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Titanic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 08:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17040407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bkreed/pseuds/bkreed
Summary: Alexandre Enjolras travels on the RMS Titanic's maiden voyage before he begins university in America. On the ship, he meets people will change his life, and hopefully others'.





	For Those in Peril on the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I recognize the Titanic disaster was a real event that caused the death of many people. I've researched this topic for a cumulative of many, many months and have held an interest in it for over ten years. I wish to hold the sinking in respect and don't mean any disrespect for those affected.

Enjolras was living proof that wealth and happiness did not come hand in hand.

The world disagreed. The world was hateful; all of the wealthy “celebrities” were obsessed with elegance, fortune, and filling multiple, large houses with countless items that served no purpose but to sit and collect dust. Enjolras could attest to this sentiment, as his parents’ three – _three_ – estates were of this exact definition. His immediate family had all of three people, not including his father’s servants, valet, and the family maid. It did include Enjolras, who would be starting university in five months. Enjolras, who, despite persistent defiance against his father, would be studying business and banking in America, at the rather infantile Harvard Business School.

His father, Emilien Enjolras, was a Frenchman who received his fortunes from his family. His parents died in 1890, when he was twenty-two, in an automotive accident. He and his brother inherited everything; Emilien went to school ( _à l’Institut d'études politiques de Paris_ ). He met Camille Laurent a year later. Her parents, who were at risk of losing their own status in France due to the Long Depression and collapsing stock prices, jumped at the chance of marriage to a young, attractive man with an education and wealth. The two married three months later and had their first and only child in 1892.

The Enjolras family purchased their second estate in Liverpool, England in 1905. Emilien owned a share of one of the largest trading companies in Europe, and the port-based city was a perfect addition – and getaway – from the French mansion. Alexandre learned English near-fluently because his parents spoke it for business, and his later years of schooling were all in English.

As Alexandre, who used his surname in casual conversation, got older, his father purchased land in New York. Emilien travelled there often for work. He met other men, who introduced him to others, who expanded his circle of acquaintances. The Enjolras family often viewed America as work-centered, but Emilien looked into the prestigious, newfound colleges of business and decided they would, as a family, move to America just as Alexandre entered university.

This was the year the RMS _Titanic_ set sail.

According to Alexandre’s mother, they must travel on her maiden voyage.

That was how Enjolras found himself on the “greatest ship ever built”, sitting on his family’s private promenade deck, with a frown on his face.

The steward came to their room two hours previous and told the family that dinner would be served at six o’clock. The family maid, who was named Marie and was about ten years older than Enjolras, began to assist his mother with evening dress. His father, who returned to the room an hour beforehand after a celebratory round of cards with acquaintances, came outside and sat in the chair next to him.

“When are you going to cut your hair?” Emilien asked.

“Never,” Enjolras replied. His father stared at him over his glasses. Enjolras stared back.

“Where we are going, the style is short and clean. Marie will cut it toward the end of the voyage,” his father said. The topic dropped abruptly, but Enjolras knew he’d be able to convince his father otherwise. Camille’s beauty wasn’t the only trait he’d inherited; he also had the charm and charisma of both his parents, and often used it to his advantage.

Thirty minutes later, he was dressed in his nicest formalwear and ready for dinner. His hair was tied back with a ribbon, but loose curls still escaped from its grasp. A few years ago, Marie began to help him fix his hair into exquisite styles. Now, he can do them himself, and tonight it was pleated in a long braid. His mother sighed, exasperated, when she emerged from her room with Marie twenty minutes later.

“I wish you wouldn’t wear your hair like that, Alexandre,” she said simply, but walked past him and grabbed her overcoat. Enjolras didn’t reply.

They left when Emilien came in from the promenade deck, where he was finishing a cigarette. He smelled like tobacco and seawater. It was different, but it wasn’t bad. Enjolras liked the fresh air that came with the sea. He smoked occasionally, but more often in social settings, when he was required to leave after dinner with the other men and discuss politics.

Enjolras, as a young, open-minded soon-to-be student, had a lot to say during these conversations, but none of it coincided with the ideals and so-called morals of his father and company. All the men his father affiliated himself with had the same views, and most of these men (his father included) believed themselves superior to anyone who wasn’t white and rich. Many dinner talks ended with some variant of:

“You’re too young to fully understand the way of the world, Alexandre. Wait a few years, finish school, become educated, and you’ll change your mind.” Exchanges like this happened constantly. Enjolras never backed down, only battled his opinions fervently until the others – his father _not_ included – felt somewhat uncomfortable and changed the subject. He would be scolded later by Emilien for embarrassing him. Enjolras didn’t mind the reprimands. He just sat, bit back any harsh words he wanted to toss at him, and continued to speak his beliefs at post-dinner get-togethers, game nights, and Sunday brunches.

Enjolras understood why his parents could be a tad wary of him tonight – not that he found it important. They’d be surrounded by some of the richest people in the world. Not dining with them, as Emilien was still not as prominent in the world as he’d like to be, but they were recognizable enough that Emilien and Camille were likely anxious.

Did Enjolras care? No. It wasn’t that he wanted to be exceptionally rude to his father and the company he kept: It was that he spoke so passionately that half the time he didn’t notice he was being somewhat of an ass. He also thought the people he argued against were asses, too, though, so it didn’t make much of a difference. _Il s’en fout_.

Enjolras followed his family through the corridors to B Deck, where the Ritz Restaurant was. It was elegant, and his family had opted for the restaurant instead of the dining salon on the first night; it was completely booked for the entire trip. The Enjolras family had only had enough time (and money, because they spent too much on a cabin with a private deck, but Emilien would never admit that) to eat there two nights: the first night on the ship, and the upcoming Sunday.

The Ritz was full of well-dressed people. These were people Enjolras had grown accustomed to his entire life. The restaurant staff hummed busily around, pushing silver carts full of food to families with young children who came to eat early.

“Now, I made these reservations months ago,” Emilien said with a hushed tone. Enjolras could barely hear him over the bustle of people, so he only half-listened.

“The seats are with the de Courfeyrac family. Phillipe is not the quietest of people, and he married a Hispanic woman – they have a son around Alexandre’s age – but he’s quite a profound lawyer and shows promise – Monsieur de Courfeyrac!” They stopped at a table that seated six people; three chairs were occupied. The man Emilien spoke to stood unceremoniously and shook his hand.

“Emilien!” Enjolras recognized Emilien’s forced smile at the less-than-formal initial greeting.

Phillipe de Courfeyrac was a large man with round, rosy cheeks. He still had a generous amount of hair. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other. July of 1911, correct?”

“That’s correct. Nearing on a year, aren’t we? It’s been long, but I’ve barely noticed the time passing. Phillipe, this my wife, Camille, and my son, Alexandre. I know I’ve mentioned them before.”

Enjolras plastered on a smile and shook Monsieur de Courfeyrac’s hand when he offered it. Then Phillipe went to Camille and gently touched the gloved palm of her hands. “You sure are lucky, Emilien! You both,” he glanced from Camille to Enjolras, “are stunning.” Camille smiled at him and mouthed her gratitude.

“Men are not stunning,” Emilien reprimanded.

“There’s no wrong thing about a beautiful boy, Emilien! As long as he can get a wife and pop out some children, there’s no problem,” Phillipe replied. Enjolras dropped his faux smile. He didn’t know which statement was worse: his father’s or de Courfeyrac’s. The young man sitting behind Phillipe visibly rolled his eyes at his father’s remarks.

“Enjolras family, meet the de Courfeyrac family. Here’s my wife, Marisol, and my son, Antoine. How old are you, Alexandre? Eighteen, nineteen? Antoine is seventeen. Perhaps a little young, but he’ll be studying law at the University of Pennsylvania once we arrive in America. It’s an Evangelical university, and we’re Catholic, thanks to Marisol, but we’re going to make it work.”

“Good choice, son,” Emilien told Antoine. Antoine stood as Emilien held out his hand and shook it firmly. Loose, dark curls bounced around his head as the reverberations traveled up his arm. “Becoming a lawyer is one of the respectable careers you can choose.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I disagree with you, sir,” Antoine said. He smiled before he continued to speak, a Cheshire-cat grin with dimples that complimented his round face. White teeth were vibrant against tan skin. “I don’t think it’s a good choice. While the profession itself is -- ‘respectable’, I believe you said -- nearly every lawyer I’ve met is a bastard.”

Emilien loosened his grip on Antoine’s hand. Phillipe coughed. Enjolras smiled brilliantly and pushed his way past his father and to Antoine; Enjolras was at least five inches taller.

“While I agree about the bastards involved in the law profession, I have to assure you that the money-obsessed, close-minded men of business and trading,” Enjolras quickly glanced at his father, “are _much_ worse.”

“It seems we have a lot to talk about, Alexandre,” Antoine said.

“Enjolras. Just Enjolras.” Enjolras stuck out his hand. Antoine took it.

“Well, in that case, call me Courfeyrac – no ‘ _de_ ’, please, it’s too outdated and pretentious. Monsieur de Courfeyrac is my father! I,” he smiled again; it was something Enjolras wanted to see more of, “am just Courfeyrac.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Courfeyrac.”

“I feel like this is the moment where I should give you a card with my information, but seeing we’re going to be on the same ship for the next week, I don’t think it’s necessary,” Courfeyrac said, then shrugged. “I also don’t have any cards.”

Enjolras grinned. “Perhaps we could make you some in America.”

“Monsieur Courfeyrac: Anti-Law Law Student.”

“You will get hired by the dozen.”

“Perhaps. That’s not an important objective. My goal is showing those greedy _assholes_ how to treat people properly –“

“Shall I be calling you men _boys_ now?” Emilien’s voice cut Courfeyrac’s sentence cleanly in half. “Because that is how you are behaving. Sit down and enjoy the meal to come; talk politics later. That language is not appropriate around your mothers.”

Courfeyrac nodded to Emilien, predisposed to show a physical sign of respect to a man he did not know well, despite the immediate lack of mental respect. Enjolras, however, was accustomed to his father’s judgmental statements. He kept eye contact with Emilien, stepped to the table, and pulled out a chair.

“Courfeyrac, I’d like it if you sat next me for dinner.”

Courfeyrac grinned again. Enjolras had already grown to like his wide smile: it betrayed an air of mischief that was otherwise veiled by the innocence of a round face and deep dimples.

“It’d be my pleasure.”

***

They managed to escape their fathers rather quickly at the beginning of the post-dinner discussion.

Emilien was visibly reluctant, disdainful – he started to decline their declaration of departure, but Phillipe shushed him – Enjolras smothered laughter – and told them to “go and be jolly.” He also mentioned something about “finding pretty girls”, which led Emilien to retort that, “Alexandre will be looking for a woman at university, not on this ship.” Enjolras and Courfeyrac scurried away from the table immediately after that comment. They wanted to minimize the damage.

Courfeyrac lasted until they exited the Smoking Room and walked five meters toward the Promenade Deck until he began ranting about his father.

“ _Find_ – pretty girls! He acts as if they’re commerce,” he said. Enjolras learned quickly to step away when Courfeyrac was provoked: he had a tendency to talk with his hands and almost smacked Enjolras in the nose. “I do like pretty girls – and pretty men; another controversy for another time – but only when they’re treated as real people and not something to acquire.”

And although Enjolras had a lot to say regarding the status of women in the century, he was startled into silence (for what may be a first in his life) at the blatant admission of Courfeyrac’s sexuality. While Enjolras wouldn’t describe himself as a particularly sexual being – he’d simply planned on living life sans romantic relationship and marriage – he considered the statement enlightening and encouraging.

It wasn’t a topic that was talked about in England. Homosexuality was legally harassed, discouraged, and scrutinized. Enjolras had heard of places in London that had amassed a (minimal, discoursed) reputation. His curiosity was smothered when he learned these joints – bars, clubs, social drinks and cigarettes – were primarily used as places to be “on the make.” That was not something he was interested in, male or female. He read of accusations of homosexuality, or what he could find of it but that was it. His knowledge of the subject stopped there.

“I don’t mean to scare you off. I tell people who seem moral, simply to lay the cards on the table,’ Courfeyrac said. It took Enjolras a moment to register that Courfeyrac was still talking to him, as he’d completely tuned him out when he became lost in his thoughts.

“No apologies necessary. It’s comforting to hear someone be overt about it,” Enjolras told Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac grinned. “Your tolerance is quite appreciated.” He held the Deck door open for Enjolras. “Tonight, I would just like to enjoy the open sky and stars. Cities are such polluted areas, sometimes I forget the skies exist. Isn’t that sad?”

“I suppose it is. It’s cold out here, though.”

“Anything beats another conversation about how ‘labor union folk’ are ‘too demanding’ and ‘petty.’ Does your father hear himself when he speaks?”

“My grandparents died when he was a little older than me. He inherited all of their money, and he went to university soon after. Clearly the schooling continued his opulent corruption,” Enjolras said. Courfeyrac laughed, but Enjolras shook his head. “No, it wasn’t all schooling. Money is all people seem to care about. While I believe there’s a way to live selflessly, without buying into its hypnosis, fortune made my father greedy, pretentious, and selfish. ”

“Nature and nurture!”

“If money replaced his parents, then be it. While my parents are moving to America with me, thankfully they still woefully trust me enough to live in a dormitory for my first year of university. Why they believe that would help – and my father used this word – ‘convert’ me, I have no idea. Leaving me to my own accord is probably the worst choice they could make, but I’m looking forward to it.”

“One thing I am not looking forward to,” Courfeyrac snorted, “are law classes. _Law_! What worse study could there be?”

“Business and banking. Apparently my life doesn’t revolve enough around money.”

“You make a fair point, dear Enjolras. Touché.”

“We should keep in touch once we get off the Titanic. We’ll be going to different schools, living in different states, but – what if we got together every so often?” Enjolras talked with his hands, too, and accidentally thumped Courfeyrac in the chest. “Take the railroad, vent about school, living conditions, the world. Create pamphlets that we could hand out at universities, and found an American group based on social change. We could grow! Recruit!”

Courfeyrac smirked. “Perhaps your father shouldn’t leave you unattended!”

Enjolras’s mind was still traveling a mile a minute. Inspiration hit him like a ton of bricks, and he barely realized he responded to Courfeyrac. “I personally have no qualms about being left unattended.”

“I have no qualms about leaving you unattended either. I know for a fact my father will be writing me every couple of days to see how ‘things are progressing’. By that he means one of two things -" Courfeyrac lowered his voice an octave, - "‘This better be worth the money, your notes should be well,’ or ‘Have you attracted any girls yet? Oh, who am I kidding, of course you have, Antoine!’” Courfeyrac’s smile deflated. “My father thinks the world revolves around women and money.”

“My father pays little attention to the former.”

“There is such a thing as - too much dedication? Forced dedication?”

Enjolras hummed in distant acknowledgement.

“Aha! How about this? Forcing undesired dedication upon your only children?”

Enjolras nodded; he was only half paying attention to what Courfeyrac is saying, thinking about his previous sentiments. A group desiring social and economic change. He had heard about America’s concept of progressivism, but had failed to ever imagine of creating a group based on his own beliefs. “Before we dock, give me an address of where I can write you. I most certainly want to keep in contact.”

“I think that’s a great idea! We can rub it into our fathers’ noses. We can finally do something that could make an impact on the people of Pennsylvania and New York! Maybe we could craft some flyers, or create our own newspaper, but God knows I’m horrid with art.”

“Goodness knows I am too. That’s a menial detail right now, though. I have some paper in my room, I could strategize tonight and we could meet in the morning for breakfast in the dining salon. Would seven o’clock work for you?”

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac began. He was nearly bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “I will lose sleep for this cause.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this since 2015. It's been sitting in my documents, waiting to be written, and this is only a small part of it.


End file.
